The Damage is done
by ReeReeWithAngst
Summary: A semi-related trilogy of stories regarding Andy Davis and Sid Philips and... Psychology? Ah well. We'll see!
1. My mom told me

I remember, I was young. She said,

 _Toys don't last forever._

And I suppose that's true. As a I grew I moved on, didn't care for some toys as much as others, lost some to yardsales or excursions.

Toys _don't_ last forever.

But Woody was always supposed to.

And I guess he did.

In a way.

Somewhere he's still out there lasting forever, with a little girl who will love him and play with him. With him and Buzz and Jessie and Slinky... Man I miss them. Man.

And he'll always live on in my memories and mom's nostalgic home videos.

But what's going to last longer, longer than the toy itself, longer perhaps then the earth itself (one day we are all totally going to live in space), is what Woody meant to me. He wasn't a collectors item or a mindless doll.

For a very long time he was my best friend.

Perhaps my only friend. But more than that, also... The man in my life. A substitute dad.

The hero in my life.

 _Toys don't last forever_.

Neither do parents.

Dads who are supposed to be there _forever_. What had happened to that?!

My toys had lasted much longer than my father's love for me or Molly had.

Molly never even knew him.

My mom never told me,

 _Dads don't last forever_. But I guess in telling me that even Woody might break she told me that dad could too. Trying to explain why his dad had left and wasn't coming back.

Because something inside the man was broken.

It wasn't as easily fixed as a ripped cloth limb. Or as easily discovered.

When Woody broke I was heart broken.

When dad left...

Some things are too hard.

I'd been the one to break Woody.

So of course... I had to have been the one to break dad.

I shuffled papers on my desk to disguise the sounds of tears falling. My roommate might be awake and he wouldn't understand crying at 6 AM. I"m supposed to be writing a paper on my family history.

I'm majoring in psycology, particularly in the psychology of children. How their minds work, how different things affect them.

Like family.

And favorite toys.

And loss.

So now I have to learn about my family. Molly's easy enough, she's a little shallow but never ill-meaning. I write a paragraph about her and a paragraph about my mom and her extended family, even though I barely know them.

It's painful when I get to dad though.

Sickening.

Just a reminder that everything breaks. And nothing lasts forever.

The one thing I know for certain is that you're not supposed to blame yourself and that children always do. Every divorce, every mom or dad leaving, every death. The kid usually blames themselves.

And I didn't need to major in Psychology to do it.

Mom was always telling me, back when I used to ask, _your father leaving isn't your fault_.

She also told me, _toys don't last forever_.

Dad was no toy, but he was hardly a man.

And to him, _we_ were the toys. Easily discarded.

Forgotten.

How can a thing like that be easy?

I outgrew my toys but I never fogot them. Everything they meant to me is still a part of me.

Of course, there were toys that didn't mean anything to me. Like Molly's Barbie doll.

I guess that's how he saw us. Someone else's responsibility.

Meaning next to nothing to him. So he discarded us and moved on.

It's unfair.

That he decided we mean nothing to him, that we aren't a part of him, and yet on foggy morning's like this one he's so much a part of me.

No, that's not quite right.

He's a part that's lacking in me.

Like a ripped off cloth arm.

And there's nothing _I_ can do to fix that.

* * *

 **Here's the first in my Toy story anthology, with two chapters to follow! I think you'll find the next ones interesting, but I hope you liked this one too, because I've been watching the trilogy (I'm on the third) and have been having lots of serious thoughts about the characters, particularly Andy and Sid.**


	2. Repair job

He'd crashed. Not come out of his room for _days_.It was worrisome. He was just a kid. A kid who'd been a firecracker full of life weeks, really, days before.

"Are you alright kiddo?" His mom asked, running her fingers through his short hair.

"I'm fine!" He snapped, turning and facing the other way.

"Alright, you want to be left alone. Fine. I'll just... I'll just leave you with a friend." He tensed up as she moved away, wondering what she meant. She pushed past his tools and dirty clothes and opened the door to his closet. He winced as the door creaked. It was mere seconds before she was back, tucking a small, dark black stuffed bear into his arms.

"No!" He screamed, throwing it across the room and falling off of his bed.

"Sid! What's gotten into you. I know you don't like toys but you don't have to be afraid of them..." His eyes grew wider and he ran back over to the bear.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to here let me..." He set it upright. Its name had been Jorge. He had used to love the thing, now he was afraid of offending it and incurring its wrath.

"Sid, kiddo, what's wrong?" She went over and set her hand on her shoulder. He was trembling awfully.

"Are you sick?" He didn't reply, just studied the bear, hoping desperately that it wouldn't come to life and toss him across the room. Could it do that? Probably... She felt his forehead.

"I don't think you have a fever..."

"Go away!" He begged.

"Take that thing with you!"

"The bear? You loved that thing... I suppose you're just growing older..." She took the bear.

"I'll give this to Hannah." He merely nodded.

"Thank you." Since he _never ever_ said thank you she knew that something was wrong with him more than just growing up. For a short time she let him be, lifeless and afraid, but she couldn't be passive forever. Sid needed help. So she was going to get him help.

He didn't want to go. Oh he made that abundantly clear.

"I don't need this. I'm fine." He was FINE. He wasn't fine. Mother's know best, after all. Mother's see right through lies, and hurt, and pain. Even when they can't stop the hurt or the pain, as Mrs. Phillips was ashamed to admit she couldn't. But maybe this would help... If she could just get him to go.

"Young man I did not take you to Pizza Planet the other day for you to disrespect me, I did that for you, now you'll do something for me."

"I'll do anything for you, I'll do the dishes for a year, but I won't do this." He insisted.

"I'll be okay mom, I don't need help." Even as he spoke, he trembled. Even as he spoke he wanted to cry.

"One session dear. One chance to talk through your fears. If it doesn't help at all then I won't make you do it again, Okay? Besides, afterwards we can get ice cream."

"Fine." He agreed hesitantly.

"Let's get the show on the road." He grumbled, heading out to the car. From the darkness a voice called,

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere sweetheart, just out."

"The boy has chores to do."

"The boy has more important things to do." His mother shot back, the episode between her and his father making him visibly cringe. He felt a little bit sick, and he hurried out to the car to avoid the argument. Perhaps it was his imagination, or his fear, but the house seemed to shake as the yelling got louder.

Almost made him wish he had that friend, that silly bear he'd once been so attached to. But he could never have that again. It had been a very, very long time since he had, but now he cried. Sitting in the passengers seat with his head against the window he openly wept.

How had he let this happen? It started with toys but where would it end? Was he afraid of everything now? Or had he always been? The more he thought about it the more he realized he had always been in touch with fear. He'd drowned it out with loud, admittedly horrible music and awesome power tools, but he'd always been afraid. More fun to strike fear, so he had.

Until he got taught a lesson.

How had that happened?

How did he agree that he had kind of deserved it?

"Who gets to teach the other people a lesson?" He muttered, as his mom came out to the car. He noticed tears in her eyes too, and he frowned.

"Are you okay mom?" She grimaced.

"We'll see." She turned on the radio. He turned it off as they pulled out of the driveway.

"We don't have to listen to the radio. We could just talk." Her eyes widened. Not listen to the radio? Talk? This was not the Sid she knew. Maybe that wasn't necessarily horrible.

"Why were you having such a hard time this past week?" She asked, to test the waters.

"I got scared," He admitted, testing them back. His mother wiped at her eyes.

"Scared of what?" Though she guessed it might've been the same thing she was scared of.

"I'm scared of a lot of things mother. I usually drown it out with loud music.

"And let it build up inside of you?" She guessed. He nodded.

"Until you broke."

"I don't want to be broken..." He whispered, letting his own tears fall for a moment longer.

"Hey, kiddo, I happen to know someone really good with tools who can patch you right up." He smiled widely, sincerely.

"Really?"

"Uh huh. A real talented boy, who doesn't have to be afraid anymore." He knew that wasn't true, that there would always be things to be afraid of. Timidly he voiced it.

"I think I'll always be afraid? But if we could talk it out sometimes..."

"Instead of just drowning it in that terrible music you listen to."

"As if yours is any better."

"Mine is _tons_ better."

"I'm not going to stop listening to Rock monster or Megadork mom."

"Of course not." She said with an exaggerated sigh. They pulled up to their favorite ice cream place, because somehow, she had been the help he needed. The pain melted like vanilla ice cream, and the fear relinquished control.

Sid grew up to be a good guy with a bad taste in music, and a career that kept him safely away from people who'd hurt him, but within close proximity of the people who'd fixed him up after that.

Things got better, even if fear never died.

He never ever trusted a toy though.

But that's okay.


End file.
